


some magic in that old top hat

by whyyesitscar



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfortunately, artifacts don't stop for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some magic in that old top hat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bering & Wells Holiday Gift Exchange.

“Artie, I thought you said these things were immobile!”

“They usually _are_ ; perhaps the fact that this one isn’t has to do with who it’s got a hold of.” 

“Can we stop”— _thwack_ —“with the digs”— _crunch_ —“about Helena, please?”

“We’re being chased by a giant, menacing, _British_ snowwoman, and you want us to be nice to her?”

“What does it matter that she’s British?!”

“Could you two _please_ quit bickering and focus on the task at hand for once? A task, which, by the way, is charging right at you.”

“Artie, you are such a je—”

/

Two days before Christmas is when Myka starts getting nervous. Every year this happens. Myka has yet to be proven right, but she still can’t shake the feeling that something is going to happen that screws with her Christmas plans. An artifact-something, that is. Anything else she could easily and happily overlook.

When it finally happens this year, she finds she isn’t as upset as she thought she would be.

“We have a ping,” Artie announces as he sits down to breakfast. Everyone groans, save for Helena, who frowns and stirs her tea again.

“Christmas is in two days, Artie,” Pete whines.

“A nice incentive to snag this one quickly, then.”

“Or we could wait until after Christmas. Is it killing anyone?”

“No.”

“Is it likely to destroy a town, or a large area of towns?”

“No.” 

“Has the smell of fudge o’ertaken the eastern seaboard?” Pete flings an arm across his forehead and pretends to faint. 

“No.”

An eye peeks out from behind a floppy arm. “Okay, even if I already didn’t want to chase this thing, I double wouldn’t want to now; this artifact sounds suuuuper lame.”

Myka watches as Artie shuffles folders, takes a bite of his scone, rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. He has a flair for the dramatic. Most of the time it’s a thorn in Myka’s side, but today she can’t help laughing, especially not when Helena bumps her arm against Myka’s and rolls her eyes. She’s waiting for Artie, too.

Pete finally bites. “So anyway, what are we looking for?”

“Frosty the Snowman—” 

“—was _real_?” Pete interrupts. 

“Frosty the Snowman,” Artie repeats a little louder, “was originally a toy built by Gustav Schwarz in the 1870s. Well, it never made it past the prototype stage on account of it turning into an artifact. This artifact is probably one of the only cases I’ve seen of an artifact being used to create another artifact—”

“Artie,” three voices blurt **.**

“Okay, okay. Gustav Schwarz, less renowned brother of wildly successful toymaker Frederick Augustus Otto Schwarz, came up with an idea for a hat that could turn snowmen into beings that mimicked life, at least for a short period of time.  He experimented on one of his top hats using an artifact of unknown origin to amplify the hat’s powers." 

“What happened?” Myka asks.

“The hat, instead of affecting already-made snowmen, turned anyone who touched it into an immobile, yet still conscious, snowman.”

This time it is Myka who tries to catch Helena’s eye. Helena will not look up. 

“Artie, there’s a huge snowstorm about to hit everything west of Chicago,” Pete says, spraying everyone with flecks of pancake. “Are you really sure we can’t let this go until it blows over?”

“Who builds snowmen, Pete?”

Pete furrows his brows. Helena answers instead.

“Children.”

Artie nods and scoots his chair back, dropping three file folders onto the table.

“Flights are grounded for a few days. I suggest you drive fast.”

/

The hat, it turns out, is somewhere in a neighborhood of Vancouver. Myka knows that, geographically speaking, driving to Canada from South Dakota is a lot more desirable than driving to Canada from, say, Washington D.C. Realistically speaking, either drive would be just as irritating given her company.

“All I’m saying is the spirit of Christmas carols has changed in the last hundred years.”

“Uh, yeah, for the better!”

Myka doesn’t have to glance in the rearview mirror to see the look Helena gives Pete. (She glances anyway.)

“We’re currently chasing an artifact that inspired a song about a living snowman who chased children in a village before he was apprehended by the police.”

“Oh, come on,” Pete scoffs. “He wasn’t apprehended by the police. He just, y’know, irritated an officer a little bit.”

“And that’s precisely the thing we should celebrate with song?”

“Well, it was just a traffic cop! I mean, they’re not even real cops anyway.”

“As a government official I’d think you would place a higher value on respect.”

“He’s a _talking **snowman**_ , HG. Even the surliest traffic cop can’t resist a talking snowman.”

“Well, perhaps I should become a traffic cop just to prove you wrong.”

“You’d look good in neon yellow,” Myka chimes in.

“See? Myka knows what I’m talking about. Right, Mykes?”

“Well, Frosty the Snowman isn’t one of my holiday favorites.”

Helena smiles a little too proudly. “Your partner has formed new allegiances, I see.”

“I much prefer the Chipmunks’s Christmas Song when it comes to festive talking creatures,” Myka continues.

“Ha! Score one for the Petester.”

“A betrayal so soon in our alliance! I fear I will never recover.”

/ 

The night is quiet and beautiful. Myka almost wakes Pete to show him the stars. But he is finally silent save for a few stray snores, so she lets him sleep.

(Myka almost wakes Helena to show her the stars. But she is too beautiful in sleep to be disturbed.)

/

“Let me get this straight: we’re looking for a top hat on a snowman.”

“Yes.”

“In the middle of winter.”

“Yes.”

“Which is generally snowman season.”

“Yes.”

“Myka, they’re _everywhere._ ”

Myka rolls her eyes. “They’re always everywhere, Pete. That’s kind of the job.”

“Okay, so, divide and conquer?”

“Sounds good to me,” Myka agrees.

“We might have a slight problem with that,” Helena interjects. “I have no Farnsworth.”

“Artie _still_ hasn’t given you one?” Myka grumbles. 

“Yellowstone wasn’t that long ago, Mykes,” Pete defends. “You can’t blame a guy for being cautious.” 

“It was long enough. I mean, what does he think she’s going to do with it? We already know they’re Claudia-proof.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re evil-genius-proof.”

“Pete!”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” He turns to Helena and winces. “Sorry, HG. You go with Myka and it’ll all be groovy.”

“Pete…”

“I’m double-gloved, Mykes.” He holds his hands up and twists them around, as if Myka were going to inspect them. “I’ll be extra cautious and everything; call it my Christmas present.”

“That _better_ not be your Christmas present,” Myka smiles. Pete snaps his fingers at her and jogs off.

Myka stuffs her hands in her pockets and heads in the opposite direction, Helena right at her side. “Some Christmas, huh?”

Helena laughs and tugs at her scarf. “Well, I’ve certainly never seen this much snow in my life. I fear I’m rather ill-prepared.”

“We’ll get you some winter gear on the way home. Oh, here, open a bag.” Myka plucks a top hat from a nearby snowman. It doesn’t even spark when she drops it into the static bag.

“We may be in for a long day of walking.”

Myka laughs as Helena twitches her nose. Five minutes outside and it’s red already. She appreciates the universal inelegance cold weather seems to bring out.

“Well just think, if we were walking with Pete right now he’d have pelted us with at least five snowballs.”

Helena laughs and shivers. “A long day of walking it is, then.”

Myka’s Farnsworth buzzes from her pocket; she struggles for more than a few moments to open it up with bulky, gloved hands.

“Mykes, I think I got it.”

“Okay, well did you bag it?”

“Don’t you think we should all bag it together?" 

“Pete, we’re not gonna carry a huge bundle of top hats just so we can bag them together. Besides, Helena and I already bagged one. I mean, it wasn’t the artifact, but we bagged it.”

Pete feigns a hurt expression. “You bagged an artifact without me?”

“Oh, it wasn’t the artifact, you big baby.”

Pete looks away from the Farnsworth; Myka hears something crinkle. “Okay, well, this one isn’t the artifact either.”

“So keep on trucking, soldier.”

“Can I truck on a full stomach?”

“We’ll regroup back by the car in a few hours for lunch. If you find the artifact before then, call me.”

“Okay. Kirk out.”

Helena laughs as Myka closes the Farnsworth. “It seems a wonder sometimes that that man is considered an adult.”

“Oh, only in the most technical sense of the word.”

Myka can see yards full of snowmen as they continue down the street, only a discouraging few adorned with hats. She starts creating plans of attack as she scans the area—what’s the best way to keep track of where they’ve been; should they resort to knocking on people’s doors if there aren’t enough hats outside; what if she and Helena eventually do have to split to cover more ground?

“You’re thinking entirely too much, darling.”

“Sorry,” Myka blushes. “I just want to get this artifact bagged quickly.” 

“Aren’t you from a cold weather state? I would think you’d love this particular hunt.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the weather. I just, you know—I just worry.”

“About what?”

“About the artifact. About some scared kid who might be paralyzed and freezing.” Myka is glad for the cold, for the wind that has reddened her cheeks enough to hide any deeper blushing. “About you.”

“About me?”

“Well, I know this must be tough for you,” Myka explains (mostly to the ground).

“That’s very thoughtful, darling, but I am more than capable of ignoring my fear of the bronzer in order to complete this mission.” 

Myka shakes her head. “No, that isn’t what I meant. I worry about you around Christmas. It’s easy to get lonely and I know you miss…people.”

Helena smiles very slightly. “I will always miss Christina, Myka. The holidays make little difference.”

“Helena.”

“Besides, you are assuming feelings of loneliness upon me when there are none to be found.”

“Are you telling me you don’t wish you could celebrate Christmas like you used to?”

“It would be nice,” Helena concedes. “But I am not lonely for it.” She tilts her head, thinking. Myka watches her neck. “I am…nostalgic. I remember. But it does not do to think of holidays I cannot have and forget to celebrate the one at hand.” 

“Artie sure knows how give us a Christmas present, huh?”

Helena smiles again, wider this time. “I think he does. I also like to think my holiday this year is filled with people who will help me forget my loneliness.”

Myka smiles back. “It is.” A gust of wind blows and Helena shivers. Myka can see her clenching her fingers in her coat pockets. “Helena, don’t you have any gloves?” she chides.

“Purple ones.”

“I mean besides those.” She tugs Helena’s right hand out of her pocket. “Your fingers must be freezing.”

Helena folds her hand against Myka’s leather gloves. “They are warming up, it seems.”

Myka lets their hands hang between them, and squeezes a little tighter. “Good. That’s good.”

“We should probably resume our search for this pesky artifact.” 

“We’ll find it. I’m not worried about that.”

Helena retorts with a bump of the shoulder. Myka laughs.

/ 

They don’t find it before lunch. Pete doesn’t seem to mind with his cheeks full of cheeseburger. Myka breezes through a bowl of soup before leaving the diner to sit outside. She does miss Colorado this time of year. South Dakota snow isn’t the same.

If Myka were in Colorado, she’d be reading under a blanket and listening to everyone bicker about decorations for the store. But Myka isn’t at home and she has no blanket, so instead she crunches shapes into the snow with her boots—a smiley face at first, but then she gets more creative with the ridges of her shoes’ treadmarks. She’s halfway through a Christmas tree when she feels a tap on her shoulder.

“Having fun, are you?” Myka stops in her tracks and grins at Helena, who tilts her head, scrutinizing the ground. “Is that an oversized toothbrush?”

“It’s _supposed_ to be a Christmas tree; I just haven’t gotten around to doing the other side.”

“Oh, of course, a Christmas tree. How could I mistake that?”

Myka packs together a quick snowball and lobs it at the side of Helena’s head. “Don’t sass me, old-timer.”

“You know, we did have snow in the 1890s. I can put up a fight just as much as you.”

“Prove it.”

Myka has no time to dodge the snowball that Helena threw while she was speaking, but she plans on outrunning the rest. Years of being a tall target have also turned her into a decent sprinter.

“You’ll have to try harder than that!” she calls over her shoulder. Myka hears the crunch of Helena’s boots behind her for a few moments before it stops. When she turns around, Helena is smiling at something on the ground.

“Look, an old bowler! Wolly quite favored wearing these.” Helena bends down to pick it up, smiling as she twirls it in her hands. She grins at Myka and plops it on her head. “Perhaps we don’t need to buy me any winter gear; I’m all decked out now.”

Myka takes a moment to laugh at Helena and how she actually manages to make a bowler hat dashing. Then Helena’s skin begins to turn blue and her cheeks go slack.

“Oh, damn,” Myka huffs. “I thought it was a top hat.”

“Alright, I am fed and watered and totally ready to star in _Snowman II: Frosty’s Revenge_!” Pete flings open the door, patting his stomach and looking entirely too full.

“Pete, it’s not a top hat!” Myka shouts. A few feet away, Helena the snowwoman—the snowwoman who is supposed to be completely paralyzed—moves her now-pudgy arms.

“It’s not a—oh, shit!” He barely escapes a tackle from Helena, landing face first in a pile of snow.

“Artie _said_ it was a top hat,” he grumbles.

/

“Artie, you are such a je—he hung up on me; can you believe he hung up on me?!”

“Not the time, Mykes! Neutralize HG!” 

“It’s not her, it’s the hat!”

“So neutralize the _hat_!”

“You’re closer!”

“Man, do I have to do everything?”

“Pete, I swear to god if you don’t neutralize that hat right now…”

“Okay, _okay!_ ”

Myka rushes at Helena and pins her to the ground—which is _not_ how she pictured this scenario happening in her mind—while Pete wrestles the hat from her head. It separates with a soft ‘pop’, fizzing and sparking when he drops it into a bag.

The snow shrinks from around Helena’s body but her skin still feels dangerously cold.

“Helena?” Her lips are blue, Myka notices, the kind of blue that you see at twilight. It would look purple in the dark. For the first time, Myka is scared of Helena’s lips.

“HG, come on,” Pete encourages. 

“Helena,” Myka repeats, “please wake up.” She shakes Helena’s shoulder a little; it feels like a block of ice.

“Twice I’ve gone on an artifact hunt with you two,” Helena croaks from beneath her, “and twice I’ve ended up frozen.” 

“Myka can warm you up,” Pete offers. Myka punches him in the arm.

“I’d like that,” Helena says, cracking open an eye and smiling with the left half of her mouth.

/

Myka sends Pete to get some takeout while she and Helena warm up in a cheap hotel room. Helena says she’s fine but she’s moving too slowly for Myka to believe her.

“I can call for another blanket,” Myka says.

“I’m fine, darling, but thank you.”

“You still look cold.”

“If you’re so concerned with my wellbeing you could come sit next to me. I hear body heat does wonders.”

“I’ve had that line thrown at me before, you know,” Myka grins.

“And has it worked?”

Myka peels back the blankets on the bed and hoists herself up. “Not until just now.”

Helena laughs. “I see you’re full of lines yourself.”

“Well, I was pretty confident that one would work.” Myka scoots down into the bed until she can rest her head on Helena’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you have to spend a Christmas without Christina.”

“I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”

“I hope you never do.”

Helena leans closer and kisses Myka on the cheek. “Thank you, Myka.” 

Helena’s skin is still pale, but it’s a good kind of pale this time. Her eyes twinkle and plead for comfort, so Myka does the only thing she can think of, and kisses Helena on the lips. She has lips that should be kissed anyway, and often.

“You’re welcome.”

“Merry Christmas, Myka.”

“Merry Christmas, Helena.”


End file.
